Holding On
by stephtron312
Summary: Daryl comforts Carol through the events of 5.09


_I had a lot of feelings about last night's episode. And this is the only way I could deal with them haha. Hope you enjoy a comforting Caryl moment and that it helps you as much as it helped me. Thanks as always for reading_

_Disclaimer: All recognizable properties belong to Robert Kirkman, AMC and other affiliates. I own nothing except my immense love for Tyreese and the gutted feeling of despair that was last night's episode._

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She was nothing short of a phenomenon, moving fast as she interpreted Rick's crackling voice over the walkie-talkie. Daryl couldn't quite catch all the words but he knew it was Tyreese, and it was bad. Carol's eyes flitted to him as she swiftly removed her own belt, giving him a nod towards Sasha at the perimeter.

Daryl walked quickly towards her, motioning for Carl to come over as he caught sight of the boy in his peripheral. Sasha's face fell immediately, the looming presence of something gone amiss surrounding her.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice strained against the panic that rose in her.

He put his hand out to soothe her but she stood still as a rock. "It's Tyreese. I'm not too sure what happened but they've got it under control. Rick just called Carol and she's ready to take care of him once they get here. It's gonna be alright Sash, but we should head over towards the back of the field. Stay outta their way. Grab your sister, too, Carl. We'll keep her with us."

Sasha's eyes cinched together, her face gathering before she released the tense muscles and let the pain course through her. She marched forward, hardly waiting for Carl to gather Judith's blankets and Daryl following after them. When she passed Carol, a bag of whatever few first aid supplies that had at her feet, her belt in her hand and the walkie-talkie jiggling in her other, Sasha nodded to her with a swallow. She pushed the lump that formed down deep into her gut, where she willed it to stay put and not rise again.

Carol paced at the edge of the field, looking down the road every few seconds for the car. She whispered to herself, checking the half dozen rolls of gauze and few painkillers over and over again. Restless and anxious, she bounced on her toes, waiting. The crackling from the walkie-talkie startled her but she brought it to her mouth swiftly.

"_Carol?_"

"I'm here Rick. I'm ready for you guys…are you close?"

"_Carol…_" she could hear it now, the ache that seeped through the sticky parts of his voice.

She pressed her mouth against the ridges of the cold radio.

"_He's gone, Carol…I'm sorry."_

She kept her station. Unmoving as they car rolled to a stop in front of her. Her arms wrapped around her torso and her expression set in an almost frown. A white sheet covered his form as Tyreese's body slumped against the window. She put her hand up to the glass.

Michonne got out from the passenger side, and put her hand on Carol's shoulder before helping the others move Tyreese's body from the car. The sheet fell away from the cut arm, and she could see the blood, already thick, before Glenn hurried to cover it back up. She stayed as they walked passed her, staring aimlessly at the blood soaked backseat. Carol tried not to waver when Sasha's rancorous wails knocked through her, or when Tara called for her that they were ready to bury him.

The dirt hit the body with a crumbling sound, rolling around on the white sheet. He threw it haphazardly, too exhausted to do much more than that. When he turned, Daryl handed the shovel to Sasha, sympathy glazing over his eyes as she took the handle with a strong grip. His hand now free, he ran it through his hair moving the bangs from his eyes. He looked around quickly, but she still hadn't come. Of course she hadn't.

Walking away from the burial he sought her by the car. The driver side back door open as she crouched on the seat, rubbing furiously at the stained blood with an old rag, lukewarm water and the tiniest bit of soap she could scrabble up. Daryl walked around to the other side of the car, opening up the opposite door so he could look at her face but Carol never tore her eyes from the task at hand.

"Someone's got to clean this off. Sasha shouldn't have to look at it," she continued to scrub, accomplishing little more than creating a big wet spot on the beaten upholstery.

Daryl pulled the red rag from his back pocket, dipping into the can that held the water. He wiped at the seat.

"I could have stopped the bleeding," her voice tightened between gritted teeth. The muscles of her arms ached as she pushed harder into the seat, her pace quickening.

The red rag lay limp on the seat as Daryl moved his hand, placing the tips of his fingers atop hers in the barest of touches. She stilled.

"Maybe," he began, slow and soft, "It's better now. It's over—he doesn't have to fight anymore."

Focusing on the red stain, Carol allowed the tears to fall, mixing the two together in big splashes. He felt the sides of her fingers tighten around his as she held on.


End file.
